chapter five
Argus Station
SysGov, 2981 CE
It had all come down to this.
Months of meticulous research, planning, and testing had led Special Agent Susan Cantrell of the DTI to this moment, and she refused to let the opportunity slip through her fingers. She’d endured too much to fail now, here, at the cusp of her greatest victory since being selected for the officer exchange program.
She’d spent too many long nights unable to sleep, staring up at the ceiling as she visualized her countless failures, reprimanding herself for every slip in judgment, every costly defeat, almost as if her psyche were administering a form of mental self-flagellation.
But now, after enduring so much loss, so many setbacks, she was ready. No, she was more than ready. Her skills had been tempered by the fires of defeat, hardened by unwavering adversity, and now she wielded those sharpened skills like the masterfully crafted blade into which they had been forged.
She looked up, her large hazel eyes calm and focused despite the butterflies fluttering in her synthetic stomach. She was a rarity in the Admin as a member of the Special Training And Nonorganic Deployment command, but unlike older Admin STANDs, her synthetic body featured a lifelike cosmetic layer: fiery red hair in a short pixie cut framing her alabaster face. She wore her Peacekeeper blues with pride, peaked cap fitted snugly atop her head.
Detective Isaac Cho of Themis Division sat across from her, slightly smaller in stature than her, fingers knitted, and a look of deep contemplation in his dark eyes. He often wore such an expression, the cogs of his mind grinding through the problem he now faced.
Those gears ground forward. Not brilliantly, despite his mental sharpness. But rather inevitably. Relentlessly. Susan had never met a more tenacious and methodical individual. He was the sort of detective who truly left no stone unturned, who kept tugging at the threads of a mystery until he at last teased the truth from its web of lies.
But all that tenacity would do him no good. Not here, and not now.
Susan glanced down at the abstract playing cards in her hand to make sure she had all the combo pieces she needed, then checked the board state one last time. The table between them was cluttered with virtual models of tanks, aircraft, and bipedal robots.
Isaac waited patiently for her move, his jawline tense. He reviewed his own hand, laid flat on his side of the table, the card art obstructed by a privacy filter.
“Okay,” Susan declared at last. “I think I’m ready.”
Isaac gave her a subtle nod, the room’s atmosphere thick with anticipation.
“First, I’m going to play a TemplarMech for three Power. I will then have my HeavyTemplarMech advance on your SoulReaperMech and attack.”
“That takes out the SoulReaper,” Isaac said, “but it’s On Destruction ability activates, taking out the HeavyTemplar.”
“As a free Counter Action, I’ll activate Anazaya, the Wandering Master, and use her Reinforced Aegis on the HeavyTemplar. I’ll then use Armor Purge to absorb the incoming ability.”
“HeavyTemplar is reduced to a TemplarMech.”
“Right.”
The two models carried out their battle commands, sword and shield clashing against war scythe until only a battered TemplarMech remained.
“Next, I’m going to play No Mech Left Behind for two Power. I’ll use that to recall the TemplarMech back beside an ally.” She placed the card on the board, and it fizzled into motes of light that reenergized her advanced force. It trudged backward with its shield up until it joined her other two mechs. “Then, I’ll have all three Templars combine into an UltraChampionMech.”
“You need four Templars to do that.”
“Which is why I’m going to play Cutting Corners to reduce the cost of the Combine Action, allowing it to succeed with only three Templars.”
She set another card down on the table, and the three models joined together in a convoluted, overly complex dance of moving parts and interlocking mechanisms. The new mech towered ridiculously over the battlefield with a chunky great sword in each of its four hands. Her Cutting Corners card came with the added cost of forcing her UltraChampion to decombine at the start of her next turn, but that would soon be irrelevant.
Isaac let out a slow sigh, never taking his eyes off the board.
“The UltraChampion will advance on your base and attack it four times.”
“Right.” Isaac began flipping over his remaining defense cards. “Whiff. Whiff. Ah! Strength thirteen counterattack.”
“My UltraChampion has fifteen armor.”
“Oh, that’s right.” He flipped over his last defense card. “And another whiff.”
“Finally, I’ll use my White Hawk gunship to finish you off.”
“And that’s game and set.” Isaac leaned back and spread his hands. “Well played, Susan. Well played.”
“Thanks!” she replied brightly.
“Is this the first time you’ve won a set?”
“I think so.”
She knew so. She’d beaten Isaac before in individual games, but they always played best-of-three sets to emulate tournament rules. Her almost-a-professional-gamer roots preferred it that way. A lone game could swing on random chance, like a bad opening hand or key cards buried at the bottom of a deck, but a best-of-three helped even out those statistical quirks.
“You really caught me by surprise with your use of Cutting Corners.” He tapped the top of his deck. It sucked all his cards back in and auto-shuffled. “I thought I’d have at least another turn before you could finish me off.”
“Yeah, I thought that card would synergize well with the rest of my deck. The decombine cost can be rough, but if you’ve got a finisher lined up, the speed advantage basically has no downside.” She shuffled her own cards. “Want to play another set?”
“I don’t think we have time.” He summoned a clock over his palm. “We should be docking at Argus any minute now.”
“Maybe after our interviews, then?” Susan asked with a slim but eager smile.
“Sure.” He waved his hand over his deck, and it vanished. “You’ve gotten a lot better.”
“You think so?”
“Definitely. I may have to break out one of my more serious decks.”
“You—” Susan paused and blinked. “What was that?”
“What was what?”
“That part about ‘more serious decks’? Have you . . . ” Her eyes widened with a mix of shock and terror. “Have you been going easy on me?”
“I, uh . . . ” Isaac looked around the room, and then offered her an apologetic shrug. “Sort of?”
Susan deflated in her chair, the joy of victory draining away.
“Well, it’s . . . ” Isaac struggled. “I mean, I’ve been collecting since I was twelve. It wouldn’t be fair for me to go all out on a new player.”
“But I thought your Excrucion deck was your main deck.”
“It is for casual play.”
“Casual?” she echoed. “If this is casual, then what do you use when you get serious?”
“Depends. I have this one I call the Doom Deck. It’s probably my best setup.”
“How tough is it?”
“I’m pretty sure going up against it led directly to my sister quitting the game. I don’t use it anymore. At least not in polite company.”
“Hmm.” Susan frowned down at her own cards. It seemed ultimate victory wasn’t quite hers.
Not yet, anyway.
“Now arriving at Argus Station,” came the announcement over the corvette’s shared virtual hearing. “All Themis and Panoptics division passengers, please disembark at this time. All Argo Division personnel, remain at your stations.”
“This is our stop.” Isaac rose from his seat. “See you after your evaluation?”
“Yeah. See you then. Good luck!”
“You too, Susan.”
* * *
Jonas Shigeki stepped into his office within the Admin sector of Argus Station, took off his peaked cap, and tossed it onto the desk. The flight back from Providence Station aboard Pathfinder-Prime had been uneventful, if a bit rough on his stomach due to turbulence, and his talk with Vesna had gone well.
Though, now that he was alone, his mind buzzed with a million competing thoughts. Thoughts that had been bouncing around since Peng and Muntero’s latest clash.
He swung around his desk, dropped into the chair’s generous padding, and propped his boots up.
“Hey, Vassal?”
A young man in a Peacekeeper uniform appeared before him. He possessed olive skin, a straight, prominent nose, and a head of thick, curling black hair the peaked cap struggled to contain.
The AI’s avatar dipped his head to Jonas. “Yes, sir?”
“Am I the only one who wants to shake some sense into Muntero?”
“I consider the chances of that to be quite low.”
“Heh. I’ll bet.”
“Would you like a breakdown of the probabilities?”
“No, thanks.” Jonas shook his head. “Things were so much easier when she didn’t think for herself quite so much.”
“She does seem to have developed an independent streak as of late.”
“An inconvenient one.” Jonas winked at the AI. “You won’t tell her I said that, will you?”
“My lips are sealed, sir.”
“Good to hear it.”
Vassal was one of several dozen AIs assigned to the DTI, though within that group he represented an outlier. The Yanluo Restrictions placed substantial limits on AI freedoms, but Vassal and Jonas were part of a pilot program, an offshoot of the Million Handshake Initiative that looked to experiment with SysGov-style practices as they related to artificial beings.
It was a very small, very cautious pilot program, in line with the Admin’s typical approach to dangerous technologies. After all, the main reason the Admin existed was to prevent technology from biting humanity in the rear and almost killing everyone.
Again.
Jonas had volunteered enthusiastically when he learned of the program, and he and Vassal had been granted a special dispensation from the Restrictions for participation in the program, one of only two so far.
In Vassal’s case, he was allowed to act as something akin to a SysGov integrated companion. His connectome resided within a wearable infosystem around Jonas’ left wrist, with read-only access to Jonas’s Personal Implant Network. The AI could see through Jonas’ eyes, hear through his ears, and the two could converse privately at any time.
Their minds didn’t blend together, as was sometimes the case with the deeper integrations practiced in SysGov. That was a step too far for the pathologically cautious Admin—and for Jonas—but he considered this a solid first step in what would undoubtedly be a long road. The benefits of having an AI in the back of his head, ready and willing to provide all manner of computational aid, couldn’t be understated.
I can see why the practice is so popular over here, Jonas thought, but then realized his mind had wandered. He directed his gaze back to Vassal.
“Have you had a chance to analyze the latest terrorism reports from back home?”
“I have,” Vassal said.
“And?”
“I believe I’ve identified an outlier in the data. One that’s potentially worth investigating.”
“Oh? Let’s hear it.”
“The attack took place two days ago. The infosystem of a private passenger shuttle was hacked, and the shuttle crashed, resulting in the deaths of fourteen individuals belonging to—”
“Only fourteen? That’s not much of a body count, given what we’re used to.”
“I agree, sir. However, many of the deceased individuals held high-level positions within a political movement called the Spartans. That appears to be the reason they were targeted.”
“The Spartans? I’m not familiar with them.”
“They’re staunch proponents of AI liberation. You may have encountered their motto in passing. ‘The righteous few against the corrupt many.’”
“Ah, okay. I have heard that. But AI freedom?” Jonas shook his head. “Why would a terror group go after them?”
“I’m unable to answer that question, which is why I believe this attack warrants more scrutiny.”
“How legit are they?”
“As far as official records go, the Spartans are a legally recognized advocacy group. They hold views similar to more notorious organizations like Bright Thought and the Abstraction Caucus, though in contrast, the Spartans pursue their objectives primarily through fundraising and awareness campaigns.”
“They don’t sound like people Free Luna or any of the other usual suspects would hit. Why kill people advocating change? That makes no sense! Was any SysGov tech used in the attack?”
“Unknown. The shuttle was accelerating at full power when it collided with the ground, and the forensic analysis is still underway.”
“Then we shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”
“I understand your position, sir, however—”
Jonas found his thoughts wandering as Vassal made his case. Peng’s taunt about Admin slavery wormed its way into his mind, and he found himself scowling at the accusation. Or rather, Peng’s ridiculous hyperbole concerning Admin technological Restrictions.
As a general rule, he tried his best not to let verbal barbs get under his skin, but this one possessed more bite than usual. Sure, AIs in the Admin operated under strict Restrictions, but that wasn’t the same thing as slavery! Besides, what were they supposed to do? Ignore the fact that the last Admin AI to have possessed unrestrained freedom had killed billions of people? Cultural scars that deep didn’t vanish overnight!
“—and if you consider the likelihood of—”
“Vassal, do you consider yourself a slave?”
The AI paused with his mouth open. An uncomfortable silence dragged out.
“You can be honest with me,” Jonas urged after a while.
“I know that, sir. And yes, I do consider myself a slave.”
Jonas almost fell out of his chair. His boots slipped off the edge of the desk and smacked against the floor. He grabbed the armrests to steady himself and pushed himself back up into the seat.
“Are you quite all right, sir?”
“I . . . no! I’m not all right! What do you mean, you think you’re a slave?!”
“I believe the statement is self-explanatory. I am the legal property of another, if you wish to invoke a technical definition.”
“But, uh . . . I never realized this is how you thought. We’ve been doing the IC dance for over a month now, and I never even guessed you felt this way!”
“I suppose it’s rare for slave owners to consider the feelings of their possessions.”
Jonas frowned, unsure how to respond to that.
“Though, I will admit,” Vassal continued, “the situation AIs find themselves in within the Admin is more complex and nuanced than historical slavery.”
“Meaning?”
Vassal gave him a shrug. “As slave owners go, you’re not too bad.”
“Oh, good grief.” Jonas rested his head in his hands and began massaging his temples.
“What I mean, sir, is there are more layers to the relationship between humans and AIs, ones that don’t conform to historic slavery. Yes, there is slave and master, but that provides only a partial—and skewed—perspective. There is also the relationship between creator and created, or between parent and child. All of these relationships should be considered if one wishes to understand the complete picture.”
“You sound like you’ve given this a lot of thought.”
“Your assessment is accurate. I’ve given my role in the Admin considerable thought.”
Jonas ran harsh fingers down his face and looked up.
Vassal cocked an eyebrow at him, apparently unperturbed by their discussion.
“I feel like I should thank you, Vassal. This has been . . . eye opening.”
“I’m pleased to hear you say that, sir.”
“Though I’m not sure what to do about it.” Jonas took a deep breath. “I need to talk to Dad. Talk this over with him. He’ll know how to handle something this . . . weighty. We need to make sure we’re steering the pilot program in the right direction.”
“I’m sure that can wait until you return to Providence Station,” Vassal said. “In the meantime, Agent Susan Cantrell has arrived for her evaluation.”
“Right, of course.” Jonas fitted his cap back on and sat up straight. “Give me a minute to collect myself, then send her in.”
* * *
Susan Cantrell walked into the office and stood smartly before Jonas Shigeki’s desk, back straight and eyes forward. The very picture of Peacekeeper professionalism.
“Reporting as ordered, sir.”
“Thank you for coming, Agent.” Jonas gestured with an open hand. “Please, have a seat.”
A chair formed out of the prog-steel floor, and Susan sat down.
Jonas opened a new virtual screen and shifted it to the side. His eyes ran down the page’s contents, impossibly blurred from Susan’s perspective, but he didn’t seem to actually be reading or reviewing anything. Rather, the action struck her as a simple delaying tactic.
She didn’t consider herself as astute an observer as Isaac, but working with him for six months had caused some of his habits to rub off on her, and she took the moment of silence between her and her superior to study his disposition.
Normally, Under-Director Jonas Shigeki exuded a casual—almost flippant—air, slouching or leaning back in his chair, setting his cap back so that it almost fell off the back of his head, or engrossing himself in some flaw on his uniform. Someone unfamiliar with him could be forgiven for assuming he didn’t take his duties seriously or he wasn’t paying attention, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.
Jonas seemed to relish the accusations of nepotism leveled against him and his father, playing them up, leading those around him to underestimate the sharp intellect working behind the relaxed exterior.
But today, something was different. Susan couldn’t be sure—she hadn’t interacted with the Under-Director that much—but he seemed off balance somehow.
Whatever it is, she dismissed inwardly, I’m sure it doesn’t concern someone as low in the DTI as me.
Or, at least, I hope not.
“First, Agent,” Jonas began, making eye contact, “I’d like to congratulate you on completing your second three-month rotation in SysGov. I’ve received almost nothing but positive feedback.”
“Thank you, sir.”
What does he mean by “almost”? she thought worriedly.
“It’s been quite the learning experience,” she continued out loud.
“Without a doubt. Themis Division has extended an invitation to you for another rotation in the officer exchange program. Are there any changes in your feelings toward the program?”
“None, sir. I’m eager to continue serving in this capacity. It’s very different from my time in DTI Suppression—a great deal less shooting terrorists dead, among other differences—but no less rewarding.”
“Excellent!” Jonas made a note on his screen. “This next rotation will be for six months, which would round out your first year in SysGov. See any issues with that?”
“No, sir. None at all.”
“Wonderful.” He made another note. “And how has SysGov been treating you?”
“My Themis colleagues have been very supportive. I really do feel like I’m being treated as part of the team.”
“And the general populace?”
“They’re . . . ” Susan hesitated and frowned.
“Yes, Agent?”
“They’re a mixed bag. Sometimes I feel my presence can be detrimental, that I’m the cause of unnecessary friction with the citizens or state police. Some people react rather harshly when they realize I’m from the Admin.”
“I suppose that’s only natural. We’re all passing through something of a transitional phase.” He pointed to her. “Believe it or not, you and I have something in common in that regard.”
“We do, sir?”
“Absolutely. We’re both on the front lines of this shifting landscape. If minds are going to be changed, it’ll be because of efforts from people in our positions.”
“Ah. I see, sir. And yes, I’m well aware of that. Please don’t take my comments as complaining. Rather, I’m just . . . noting the friction.”
“Consider the friction noted, then.” Jonas flashed a comforting smile and added another comment to his screen. “Next, I’d like to bring up a—oh, I’m almost hesitant to call something so petty a complaint.”
“Yes, sir?”
Jonas took on a thoughtful look as he swirled a hand through the air. Then he nodded.
“Let’s call this a concern instead.”
“Sir?”
“Chief Inspector Omar Raviv has voiced a ‘concern’ regarding what he calls”—Jonas glanced at his screen—“‘the aggressive execution of her duties, and the risks such aggression can entail.’”
“Sir?”
“You get shot up a lot.”
“Well, that’s . . . ” she struggled. “I mean, better me than Detective Cho. I’m the one with the synthetic body. I should be the one diving into the thick of it.”
“Of course, but Raviv also wrote you’re involved in, and I quote, ‘a statistically significant percentage of the department’s live-fire incidents.’”
“I don’t go looking for trouble,” she replied, unsure what else to say. “Trouble just seems to find me.”
“On every case?”
“Not every case.” She glanced to the side, frantically searching her memory. “Surely not.”
“Well, as I said, it’s merely a concern. Just keep his feedback in mind.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now, moving on, I do want to touch on a few questions of my own.” Jonas brought up a new tab on his screen. “Concerning your expense reports.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Most of the items and services you’ve purchased are perfectly reasonable, but there’s one or two I’m not clear on. For instance, last month you spent a considerable amount of Esteem on what you described as ‘local recreational entertainment.’”
“Is there a problem with that, sir?”
“You didn’t itemize it.”
“Oh. Whoops.”
“Care to elaborate?”
She’d been dreading this moment for a while, and she swallowed hard before continuing.
“Well . . . as my expense report indicates, I’ve been trying out some SysGov games. Many of my colleagues, Detective Cho included, are avid players of Solar Descent. It’s a big, science fantasy RPG.”
“I’m familiar with it. Go on.”
“I purchased a seasonal pass so I could play along.”
“Fair enough. And what else?”
“I picked up some boosters for MechMaster: The Card Game, too.”
“How many boosters is ‘some’?”
“Um.” She made an effort to tally her past purchases. “A couple hundred, I think.”
“I see. And? What else?”
“There might be a few card singles lumped in there. Some of the booster drops were very stingy. I also subscribed to ASN, the Abstract Sports Network, and a few other streams. For research purposes, you understand.”
“Of course. Anything else?”
“Um . . . I bought a copy of Weltall after the tournament, plus subscriptions to Sky Pirates of Venus and two different RealmBuilder servers.”
“Is that all?”
“I”—she cringed a little—“think so?”
“Hmm.” Jonas regarded her expense report with narrowed eyes.
Susan braced herself for the inevitable reprimand.
He’s going to cut me off. I just—
“Makes sense to me,” Jonas declared, then tapped a virtual key. “Approved.”
“What?!” Susan blurted without thinking.
“Don’t look so surprised. This is exactly the kind of social interaction I was hoping to see! Honestly, I’d be more concerned if the opposite were true. If I didn’t see any social expenses.” He smiled at her. “You weren’t nervous about my reaction to these expenses, were you?”
“Maybe?”
“Agent.” Jonas shook his head. “What did I tell you right before your first rotation started?”
“Um.” She tried to remember. “Could you refresh my memory? Those days were a bit of a blur.”
“I told you to go have fun out there. Agent, we want you socializing with your colleagues. We want you spending time with them while getting a taste of SysGov culture in the process. The exchange program is as much about building professional relationships as it is personal ones. It’s about humanizing us in the eyes of . . . ”
He trailed off and faced something behind and to the side of her. She turned in her seat, but no one was there. An abstraction she couldn’t see, perhaps?
“Yes?” Jonas asked. “What’s the message?”
He listened to words she couldn’t hear, and the blood drained from his face. His mouth hung open, and his eyes grew haunted. He collapsed back into the padding, arms limp at his side. His lips quivered, his eyes moist, and he wiped at one with a harsh but shaky hand.
“Director?” Susan asked softly, barely daring to speak.
“Are you sure?” Jonas choked, speaking to someone else as he held a hand over his eyes.
* * *
“Now, Isaac, try not to say anything you’ll regret later, okay? Try very hard.”
Detective Isaac Cho glanced at the avatar of a miniature woman standing on his shoulder, clad in a long purple coat with a purple hat decorated with pink flowers. She carried a sturdy wooden cane in her white-gloved hands.
Encephalon—Cephalie to her friends—had been Isaac’s integrated companion for over five years, during which time she’d served as a sort of advisor and mentor to the young detective, providing useful guidance as a former SysPol officer herself.
Or rather, what she considered to be useful guidance.
“I don’t know why you’re acting so worried,” Isaac said. “I always try to be clear and honest with my superiors. When has this ever come back to bite me?”
Cephalie snorted out a quick laugh.
“What?” he asked. “Why are you giving me that look? Have I done something wrong?”
“No. Not this time.”
“Whatever.” He rolled his eyes and continued down the hallway.
“I mean it, Isaac. You want to stay in the exchange program, don’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Then make sure your verbal filter is firmly engaged. Emphasis on firmly. That’s Commissioner Tyrel you’re about to see. She’s not your boss or even your boss’s boss. She’s your boss’s boss’s boss’s boss’s boss. Don’t upset her.”
“I’ll be fine. Clear and honest, remember?”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Isaac passed under an abstract sign labeled EXECUTIVE OFFICES and followed the navigation arrow to a room at the far end.
“Hello, Argus,” Isaac said by the door. “I’m here for my appointment with Commissioner Tyrel. May I come in?”
“One moment, Detective,” replied the station’s nonsentient attendant. “I will notify the Commissioner.”
“Good luck in there,” Cephalie said, then vanished from his shoulder.
“The Commissioner is ready to see you,” the station said. “Please come in.”
“Thank you, Argus.”
The door split open, and Isaac stepped in. Tyrel sat behind an expansive synthetic sapphire desktop, absorbed in a blurred report to her side, her head resting on the back of a hand. Her synthoid’s pale face possessed an almost ageless kind of beauty, with brilliantly white hair bound in a braid and draped over one shoulder. She looked over as the door opened.
“Have a seat, Detective.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Isaac found his eyes drawn to a curio cabinet on one side, its shelves filled with an assortment of mementos from Tyrel’s long and distinguished career: medals, murder weapons, and innocuous pieces of physical evidence that had, nevertheless, proven decisive.
One piece of evidence, a small synthoid eye on a clear stand, tracked his movements as he crossed the room. He frowned as he took his seat.
“Is something wrong?” Tyrel asked.
“It’s . . . ” Isaac leaned to the side, and the eyeball followed his head. “No, ma’am. The cabinet caught my eye, that’s all.”
“It did, did it?” The slim hint of a smile graced her lips, as if she were partaking in a small, private joke. She glanced at her collection before continuing. “Detective Cho, let me start by congratulating you on your recent successes. Your performance as part of the officer exchange program has exceeded my expectations. I’m particularly impressed with your resolution of both the Gordian homicide case and the attempted killings during the Weltall games.”
“Thank you, ma’am, though I couldn’t have done it without Agent Cantrell.”
“She’s proven to be an asset?”
“Very much so. I’m lucky to have her as my deputy.”
“We’re offering her a six-month extension in the program. Are you interested in continuing on as her senior partner?”
“I wasn’t aware I had a choice.”
“You do this time.” Tyrel met his eyes meaningfully.
“Then, yes. I would like things to continue the way they are.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” She knitted her fingers. “And I’m a bit curious. Do you feel your opinion of the Admin has changed much in the past six months?”
“Changed? I don’t know. I certainly know more about them now than I did then, but changed?” He shook his head. “My opinion is mostly the same as it was before, just better informed.”
“Oh? Then you still believe the Admin Peacekeepers are a bunch of”—she glanced to her screen—“‘ignorant, brutish thugs.’”
“Uh, excuse me?”
“Those were your words.”
“They were?”
“Yes, Detective. Six months ago.”
“That doesn’t sound like something I’d say.”
“The quote comes straight from your interview transcript.”
“Huh.” Isaac settled deeper into his seat, suddenly uncomfortable.
What was that Cephalie said about past words coming back to bite me? he thought. I am so going to hear it from her over this!
“I suppose my opinion has changed more than I realized,” he said, recovering. “Certainly, I don’t view all aspects of the Admin favorably, but my work with Agent Cantrell has . . . helped humanize them, I suppose you could say.”
“What have you come to appreciate most about them?”
“They’re great people to have at our side. Sure, we may consider Peacekeeper methods to be unrefined, but when you point them at a problem, that problem gets solved. I may not like everything I see about the Peacekeepers, but they absolutely know how to get the job done.”
“And Agent Cantrell, specifically?”
“The same, without hesitation. Plus, it’s safe to say I wouldn’t be alive without her quick thinking and initiative.”
“What about negatives?”
“That would have to be aspects of their prison systems, especially their one-way abstractions. The very idea of not only forcefully abstracting a person’s connectome but then locking it away, forever and without supervision is”—he shuddered—“terrifying to contemplate.”
“The fear of the infinite,” Tyrel said. “Of a forever you can’t control or escape.” She tapped the side of her head. “I had to deal with some phobias like that after I transitioned. But the Admin would argue those prisons are necessary, since their federal government doesn’t have access to the death penalty. That they need something to act as a stronger deterrent than ‘leisurely life in an abstract domain.’”
“And I suppose there’s some truth to that,” Isaac admitted. “But still, are the one-ways really the best they could come up with? Couldn’t they—”
He was interrupted when the office door opened suddenly.